


Teetotaler

by Severina



Series: Alphabet Soup [20]
Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt whirls away easily – and his dad always said those dance classes wouldn't come in handy – and snags at Holly's arm as she walks by. He was really nervous about meeting Holly for the first time, but champagne makes everything a lot easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teetotaler

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt "T" at LJ's 1_million_words A to Z Challenge.
> 
> * * *

Matt doesn't drink.

He's not a recovering alcoholic, though that's the first thing people assume when he passes on the beer. He's a staunch atheist, so religious reasons are out. It's not even that he dislikes the taste, though beer is definitely not his favourite beverage on the planet – that would be orange soda – and wine just isn't sweet enough for his liking. His grandfather's drunken diatribes about immigrants and the loss of the American Dream aren’t exactly his most happy memories, but it's not like he has some great fear of turning into a raging racist if he takes a few sips of alcohol.

He just likes to be in charge of his faculties, thank you very much, and alcohol makes every fuzzy and indistinct. Matt likes precision. He likes straight lines.

But it's their first Christmas party since he and John officially became a couple – since he moved all his shit out of the spare bedroom that he hadn't been using for months _anyway_ and they finally turned it into an office so he could transport all his gear out of the dining room – and he knows how nervous John is about it. At first he thought it was the gay thing, but Kowalski and the guys barely batted an eye the first time John brought him to the precinct so that's not it. He hardly had to start in on his research on McClane before the whole Christmas Curse thing came up. And though two incidents in over twenty years don't really denote a curse in his book, he still totally understands. That "ho ho ho, now I have a machine gun" thing and killing some dude with an icicle would be pretty damned traumatic. 

Also cool, but that's beside the point.

Matt is one hundred percent sure that Eurotrash terrorists are _not_ going to crash their party, and he also has no intention of going up in either a high rise or a plane. But John's still anxious as shit, prowling the edges of the living room and jerking at every loud noise from outside or down the block. And Matt just wants everything to go smoothly, like your average everyday Christmas party. That's being attended by half of 1PP and a couple of high-ranking officials from the Mayor's office. Also a few smooth Feds. And Miguel Bowman himself. And his boyfriend's ex-wife. 

Yeah, maybe he just needs one little drink to take the edge off.

Turns out? Champagne is the bomb.

He only has five glasses. Well, okay, he has three in those prissy little long-stemmed things that were buried in the back of John's cupboard. Honestly, he could piss more liquid than would fill one of those pathetic wine goblets. For his final two drinks, he digs out the beer mugs. That's the ticket.

He finds Bowman and tells him all about his plan to revitalize the security of the nation by providing all of their computer experts with unlimited nachos and cheese. Bowman smiles at him and hurries off to talk to his other agents, so Matt's pretty damned sure he was so impressed that he's already discussing ways to implement the plan. They just have to solve the greasy fingers dilemma and they are _set_.

He taps John on the shoulder, gestures toward the G-men with his half-full mug. "Did you see that?" he asks. "And you thought it was a dumb idea!"

"Silly me," John answers, smiling wanly. 

He must still be anxious about bad guys. It would totally suck to live in fear like that every Christmas. Matt's lucky, because he knows that John will always make sure nothing happens to him. Except for that one time that he got shot in the shin by Thomas Gabriel and had to wear a brace for six months. But other than that. 

"How's about we slow down on the champagne?" John continues.

Matt hugs the beer mug to his chest. "I like the way you always take care of me, John," Matt says. 

"That's great, Matt," John says, reaching one of those big paws toward his mug. "Now why don't you give me that—"

Matt whirls away easily – and his dad always said those dance classes wouldn't come in handy – and snags at Holly's arm as she walks by. He was really nervous about meeting Holly for the first time, but champagne makes everything a lot easier. "Hey hey. Hey! Holly! Hey! Did John always take care of you?"

She's pretty in a sort of weird old lady way, and when she smiles up at John he can tell she still loves him a little. He'd be jealous except she doesn't exactly have the equipment that John likes to play with. And her fingers on his hand are too warm and dry, so that's kinda creepy. "He tried," she answers.

"Oh! Oh hey, Holly! Hey!"

"I'm right here, Matt," she says. And now she sounds like his third grade teacher Mrs. Bichlmeier when she used to get ticked off when he wanted to answer all the questions. Except she used to call him Horshack. It wasn't his fault everybody else in his class were morons.

"Hey, Holly," he says, "did John's eyes always roll back in his head when he was sucking you off? 'Cause that's when I know that—"

"Ohhhhkay," John interrupts, "that's about enough for you, kid."

"Right. Holly doesn't have a cock," Matt says. He's an idiot. Then he feels his eyes go wide with an idea that would explain a hell of a lot, and grabs at Holly's arm again. " _Do_ you?"

* * *

Matt wakes up on his stomach with a bucket sitting next to his side of the bed. Thankfully, it's empty. At least he didn't embarrass himself.

His stomach feels like someone dipped it in acid, but he rolls over carefully to find John sitting on the edge of the bed. It only takes one look for every single memory of the previous night to come rushing back, and he quickly amends his earlier thought. At least he didn't embarrass himself _by puking_. He managed to do all kinds of embarrassing things that didn't require the regurgitation of his dinner.

"Hey," he says.

John seems to take his awakening as a sign to move. He stands, crosses his arms over that massive chest. "Hey, yourself."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yup," John says.

"Do you still love me?"

"Yup," John says.

"Do you promise to never, ever, ever let me drink champagne again?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely," John says.

Matt closes his eyes. There's a lot more that still has to be said, but now that he's got the basics out of the way he thinks it might be safe to go back to sleep. Or possibly die. With the way his stomach feels either one is a possibility. He's drifting in a half-doze when he feels the bed dip with John's weight, then the blessed relief of a cold cloth on his forehead. He's totally going to blame the champagne, but he can feel tears pooling beneath his eyelids as he reaches out blindly with one hand. When John wraps cool fingers around his, a weight that he didn't know was there lifts off his chest. 

John really does always take care of him. 

And when he's feeling better, he's totally writing a stern letter to Moet & Chandon. That shit should come with a warning label.


End file.
